


Red, the Colour of Desire

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Crack, F/F, F/M, I live to troll Bran Stark, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, TW for allusions to Joffrey, getting caught, in which edmure is the self-aware one (for once), my god this is silly, not quite incest, the tullys are the horniest family in westeros (apparently)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9866864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: "For the record, this is not my fault," says Cat. "The fact none of our children can keep it in their pants long enough to stop us constantly walking in on them is not my fault.""Hmm," says Ned, which doesn't entirely make it sound like he believes her.Granted, the fact he currently has her hoisted up on the kitchen sink with her knickers around her ankles probably doesn't help.





	1. Robb

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be fooled by the multichapter and Les Mis quoting, this fic is pure unadulterated (or possibly quite _adulterated_ , winkwinknudgenudge) nonsense. This is mostly me making fun of myself for how, because of my thing for redheads, the various Tullys and Tully-resembling Starks inevitably end up slutty as hell in my fics, except since I don't exist in canon, that making fun gets deflected onto poor Cat instead. Soz Cat.

It's Robb's graduation party, that's the worst thing. Cat knows she brought it on herself, but still, they've spent so long organising this, and she's been stressed out of her mind trying to get everything right, and Robb's been stressed out of his mind worrying about her being so stressed, but anyway, it's done now, and they've got this lovely hall they've rented to themselves, and Cat can finally relax, and watch Ned make his speech.

 _He looks good up there._ Maybe it's the lack of sleep and three glasses of wine that's getting to her, but still, Ned's decked out nicely for once; she made him go buy a new suit and get it properly tailored, and she knows Ned hates wearing suits but that doesn't mean they don't suit him, and then he starts to _speak_ , and she's not really following what he's saying but god, his voice, she's always been so weak for that accent of his, and he knows it. Cat slouches over a podium as she watches, bosom over her folded arms, and idly she starts twirling the toothpick she has in her hand from a canape in her mouth, running it from one corner of her lips to the other, leaving it stained red, and the she hangs her mouth open and she grazes her lower lip with it. For a second, hers and Ned's eyes meet, and he looks away, flushing. She does the same when she realises what she must look like. _For heaven's sake woman, what are you, sixteen? All your friends are here. It's Robb's graduation. It can wait until you get home._  


That lasts until Ned finishes his speech and steps back off the podium, approaching her with a slightly shy look on his face. She should probably stand up straight and have a proper conversation with him, but instead she finds herself slouching over further, her cleavage spilling out more – this dress isn't that low-cut, but with breasts like hers it can be hard to hide – and Ned, darling that he is, never looks anywhere but her face. That's probably for the best. _What's come over me all of a sudden? And could I not think of a better way to phrase that question?_ “So, how'd I do?” he asks, that gruff voice of his gone all soft and sotto and – oh, she is doomed.  


“Good. Very good,” she says, quietly – she does not _purr_ , no matter what her ears are telling her – and Ned looks rather flattered, given it's his wife saying it. “I'm not just saying that. I think – I think you had all eyes in the room on you. You had charisma.”  


Charisma. That's one word for it. Ned looks very surprised to hear that. “Brandon was always the charismatic one,” he mutters, and oh, okay, after two decades that's still not entirely stopped being awkward, but still Brandon's probably already got some nineteen-year-old classmate of Robb's in the back of his mid-life-crisis-mobile, so it probably doesn't matter. Ned seems a little embarrassed when he realises what he just said. “I mean – sorry, I shouldn't have–”  


“Don't worry about it,” Cat assures him, because really, she doesn't have time. She stares up at him and bites her lip – his long dark hair roughly tied back, his stubble only a few hours shaved and yet somehow back again, the muscles that are still strong and firm for his age barely hidden under his shirt, dark grey to match his eyes. Cat quickly comes to a conclusion of: _oh fuck it._ She will feel embarrassed about this later, but later is not right now. Right now, she wants, and she's never seen the point in being shy about what she wants.  


Slowly, she stands up, straightening her spine – ow, her back hurts now – and comes closer to Ned, leaning up on her toes to embrace him. She wonders of anyone watching will wonder what she's doing, but she's fairly sure it looks innocent enough. Maybe they'll think she's drunk. “You looked good up there,” she whispers in his ear, or as best she can – he is a bit taller than her. “I've been so busy getting this thing organised. I missed you. I didn't even realise I was doing it.”  


She can feel him stiffen against her like he's tempted, and she has to repress a smirk, but she knows it's going to take a little bit more than that. “Cat,” he says carefully, “it's Robb's graduation. We can't _leave_...”  


“I think he has,” Cat replies, and she didn't even realise she'd noticed that; where is Robb? But she shakes the thought away. He's twenty-five, he can take care of himself. “But we don't have to leave. No-one would notice if we were in the bathroom for a few minutes...”  


Ned's cock jumps in those lovely woollen slacks when she says that, and oh, she's definitely smirking now, even if she's also a little worried about stains. “Cat...”  


But then she pulls back and – well, she doesn't _pout_ , obviously, but she lets her eyes go wide and dark as she flutters her eyelids and bites her lip, for a second not caring at all what she looks like. Ned stares at her, and eventually lets out a sigh that's equal parts affection and arousal.  


“Alright,” he says, and Catelyn does her best not to grin. She chastely takes his hand, and when they walk off, no-one thinks a thing of it.  


* * *

They _almost_ make it to the bathrooms before she grabs him and kisses him senseless. Not quite, so if anyone sees them with their mouths smashed together as they stumble through one of the doors – she's not sure if it's the ladies' or gents', and since they're breaking the rules either way it probably doesn't matter – it will be very obvious what they're doing. But she doesn't think anyone does, because this corridor is pretty empty. Thank god.  


Ned, for all his reticence, seems convinced by now; convinced enough that once they get through the door he can hoist her up by her thighs and wrap her legs around his waist, walking over across the room. She can't help but giggle as she lands on the edge of the sink, which quickly devolves into a moan once he breaks the kiss to nip and suck at the skin along her neck, and that might be tricky to cover up but she thinks she has a scarf in her handbag, so she allows it, throwing her head back and pressing herself up against him, fumbling for the buckle on his belt; she's eager, but really, they ought to do this quickly lest they get caught, and it would probably be safer doing this in one of the cubicles but she can't bring herself to pull away long enough to complain; god, she's so wet she's half-afraid she's going to ruin her knickers but then again, hopefully they won't be there very long, and she moans again as she feels his wide, strong hands making their way up her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way, kneading against the wet fabric covering her and then she gets a moan in return–  


That gives her pause. _Hang on,_ she thinks. _That didn't sound like Ned._  


Reluctantly, she pushes him away. He looks bemused, but she presses a finger to her lips and for a second, they just listen. There it is. Moaning. Ah. Well there are a lot of people and quite a bit of liquor at this party; it's not that surprising that they wouldn't be the only ones who couldn't control themselves. Cat is just about to take Ned's hand and find somewhere else, since these two probably have the rights to this bathroom (leaving aside that legally, none of them have the right to be doing any of this), but then the moaning suddenly transforms into talking.  


“Oh, you like that, do you?” Cat frowns. There's something familiar about that voice, but it's too quiet for her to really put a finger on. Ned looks horribly embarrassed and like he wants to just flee, but Cat can't help herself, her curiosity's been peaked. There's another one, this one a little louder, rougher, more desperate – and muffled. When she thinks about it, it's pretty easy to guess why. There's something familiar about _that_ voice as well. “You like sucking my cock in the bathroom? Yeah you do. Everyone's out there talking about how good and pure and proper you are, probably wondering where you've gotten to so they can't say it to your face. What do you think they'd say if they knew what you get up to when they're not looking?”  


Silently, Cat slides herself out from under Ned, to his rather anxious look, and starts creeping towards the cubicles. She doesn't know what she's doing, but she knows something's up, and when she reaches the third one along, that is definitely the one the noise is coming from. “Love it down your throat, don't you Stark? Love getting on your knees on the dirty floor.” Gently, she raps her fingers on the door. “Fuck, baby, yeah, just like that–” and it swings right open, to her surprise. _They weren't smart enough to lock the door?_ “–shit!”  


Cat's eyes go wide. _Theon Greyjoy._ Robb's flatmate and best friend since he was a child, always to her slight consternation. She'd noticed he was missing, but she assumed he'd gone home with some girl already; that's what he usually does at these events. But she shouldn't be surprised. Getting a blowjob in the toilets at his best friend's party is exactly the sort of thing Theon would do.  


“What, what is it, what's wrong?” says the boy on his knees, clearly not having noticed her presence, and _oh no, not_ that _voice_. Then Theon worriedly flashes his eyes toward her, and the boy turns around, eyes going equally wide and face flushing even deeper when he sees.  


“Mother?”  


“Robb?!”  


“Robb?” _Oh fuck, Ned._ Robb flushes even deeper as heavy footsteps come over, Ned looking on with confusion and concern, and Cat half wants to stop him somehow and spare Robb the embarrassment, but she has no idea what she could say. Robb might not be actively performing fellatio at this moment, but still, being on his knees with his lips wet and swollen, with Theon's prick barely a few inches away, it's pretty obvious what he's been up to. Ned immediately turns a matching colour once he sees. “Oh shit, sorry son, we'll just–”  


“Wait, Mum, Dad, it's not–”  


“Don't you dare say it's not what it looks like,” Cat warns.  


Robb lets out an irritated huff. “Fine,” he says, finally getting to his feet (and Theon, finally accepting this blowjob is not going to continue, reluctantly starts putting his cock away). “But it's not what you think. Because I know, I _know_ you're going to think this is all Theon's fault, that he pressured me into it, that I'd never do something like this but – no, it was _my_ idea, I asked him for it, I practically begged–”  


“Robb, you don't have to–”  


“Yes, I do, Theon.” Robb looks back at him with steel in his eyes, and something flickers across Theon's face, something soft and vulnerable she's never seen before. Cat wonders if maybe they've stumbled upon more than a blowjob in a public bathroom. “It was my idea, and I take full responsibility. So if there's anyone you should be angry at, anyone you should get in trouble, it's me.”  


Cat blinks? Did she think Theon must have pressured Robb into it? Yes, of course, that's the only reason she intervened – because she thought Robb might be in trouble, might be doing something he didn't really want to. Because she couldn't imagine Robb ever doing something so – so _dirty_ – of his own volition, but according to him he did, and she doesn't think he's lying to her, and all of this is more than she ever wanted to think about her son's sex life.  


As for being in trouble – well. Her first instinct is still to scream at Robb that he's grounded and forbid him from ever seeing Theon again, but given he's twenty-five and doesn't actually live with her anymore, she doubts how effective it would be. Besides, Robb doesn't seem likely to listen to this order to stay away from Theon any more than he did to the first nine. In hindsight, she probably should have seen this coming.  


“You are an adult, Robb,” she points out. “There's nothing really we can do to you here.”  


“We could tell the proprietors,” Ned mutters.  


“Yes, but then we're just going to lose our deposit, dear,” Cat says. “Besides–”  


She cuts off that sentence with a blush. No, she really doesn't need Theon Greyjoy to know about that. Unfortunately, he notices her blush, gets a puzzled look for a second, and then slowly, a smirk starts to spread across his face.  


“Besides what, Mrs. Stark?” he grins, and Cat's flush deepens until she's the same colour as her son. “This is the men's bathroom. What are you doing here anyway?”  


Cat's mouth hangs open, searching for some excuse, but nothing comes. Robb blinks for a second, and then his eyes go wide again, as if he just figured it out.  


She turns to Ned. “You deal with it,” she says, and he stares and stammers at her. She knows this is hardly the most responsible and mature way she could deal with the situation, and she might have to make it up to Ned later, but either way she walks out, needing to clean her brain a little. With alcohol, if at all possible.  


However, once she makes it out of the men's rooms – and yes, she checks the sign and Theon wasn't lying, damn him – she sees Cersei Lannister, chatting to her brother and casually sipping a glass of white wine. She raises her eyebrows, and Catelyn flushes once again. Great, that's just what she needs.


	2. Sansa

She and Ned make it a point to go out on their own every once in awhile. In truth, they can both be a bit too duty-bound at points, too consumed with keeping the house running and keeping their kids in line. In theory, they're all more or less old enough to take care of themselves by now, but that doesn't stop Cat from worrying. Still, if they get too absorbed in family matters their children tend to insist they head off and enjoy themselves, which Catelyn is grateful for even if she thinks they also do it so they're not being fussed over constantly. Sansa had insisted as much tonight, since the others were all out and Ned had been slightly nervous about leaving their daughter all alone so late. But Sansa had rolled her eyes and pointed out she was twenty-two and would be living on her own soon, she'd be fine. In truth, they can be a little overprotective of Sansa; they have been ever since that whole nightmare with her first boyfriend, but Cat recognises her little girl is growing up.

Unfortunately, tonight, they've decided to go see a film, but the film they've chosen is boring. Cat forces herself to try and follow along for at least half the runtime, until she gives up and admits she doesn't actually care. Then she finds herself drifting off against Ned's shoulder, but she can't really take a nap – the film might be boring, but it is also loud. She sighs in frustration.

Ned turns to her with a bemused look. “You're not following this bollocks at all either, then?” he whispers.

“Not a word of it.”

He huffs in amusement, and she smiles, nuzzling a little against his shoulder. Idly, he runs his fingers through her hair. _I suppose I have my nickname for a reason._ “Mm,” she says, “have you bought new cologne?”

Ned frowns. “Not recently.”

“Oh. Well whatever it is, it smells good.”

“You probably bought it for me.”

“That explains it then.”

He chuckles at that, and she moves closer. He does smell nice, warm and earthy and real – the way Ned's always smelt. Beneath his skin, she feels his pulse start to quicken, just barely, which confuses her until she realises – Ned's neck has always been sensitive. She's always quite enjoyed taking advantage of the fact, but still, she's about to move until she considers – this film really isn't good, and it _is_ their date night. She stays where she is.

“You know, Ned,” she whispers into his skin, perhaps letting her teeth graze ever so gently, “if neither of us is enjoying the film, we don't have to stay. We could just go home...”

Ned frowns again. She thinks he knows what she's on about, but: “Sansa...”

“Must be in bed by now, mustn't she? It's late.” Okay, Cat doesn't really know how late it is, but it sure seems like they've been watching this dreck for hours. Ned is tempted, she knows he's tempted, but she doesn't quite have him convinced yet. Slowly, she starts sliding a hand up his thigh. “Come now,” she says. “You don't want me losing control of myself and us to end up doing it right here in the cinema, do you? Terrible example for the children.” She can't quite keep back a smile.

Ned sighs and folds his hand over hers – but he doesn't push her away. “No, I suppose not,” he says, and when he meets her eye, he's smiling back. “Although at least one of them's already been badly influenced.”

Cat flinches as they stand, remembering that whole incident from Robb's graduation, which alas she did not get drunk enough to forget entirely. “I hope you realise I was trying to erase _that_ from my memory.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She smiles and pulls him in close. “Don't worry, you can make it up to me.”

* * *

Alas, before he can they have to drive home, since they're both probably a bit too old to try doing it in the backseat like teenagers – although some part of Cat secretly wants to check, just to be sure. But no, she's good, sighing contentedly and relaxing into the seat. Casually, she runs a hand down her thigh and realises her pantyhose have gotten a little scrunched up. She frowns, and pulls her skirt up to smooth them.

“Cat.”

She looks up, and sees Ned is staring at her. “Eyes on the road, dear,” she chides, and he rolls his eyes before returning them there. They're both too responsible to risk any accidents here. Still... she finds herself crossing her legs, tilting her body towards him. “We have to be patient, that's all.”

“Oh, do we?” Ned mutters, and Cat frowns, wondering if she's missed something.

Either way, they make it back home before they have to pull over and solve the problem. Just about the second she steps out, Ned has her in his arms and places her up on the bonnet so he can kiss her properly, which oh, that's nice, but at the same time he hardly has any grounds to be criticising her for impatience.

“Ned,” she murmurs against his lips as his hand makes its way up her skirt, “Ned, if we're too old to do this in the car, we're probably too old to do it on the car as well.”

He stops and pulls back, getting an awfully serious look across his face. “Right,” he says, and when he helps her back up and leads her inside, she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

All the lights are off, which is good, because it means Sansa's probably gone to bed and they don't have to be so careful, although they should probably try not to wake her up. Cat moans as she feels herself stumbling against the wall, hooking her leg around Ned's thigh, and god, this is taking too long, they need to get upstairs now.

“Bedroom,” she says, teeth fixed in Ned's bottom lip, and he chuckles at her.

“What, you want to do it in our actual bed for once?”

She narrows her eyes and bites his lip harder. He doesn't seem to mind though, given how he picks her up and wraps her around his waist once more to carry her up the stairs, and gods, they might not be as young as they once were but he is _strong_. Not that she's complaining. Now she thinks of it, if they do have the whole house mostly to themselves they could make use of it, but she doesn't want to bring it up now.

The door slams heavily behind them once they get inside, and Ned's quick to press her up against it, and she knows she shouldn't test her luck but part of her can't help but thrill to the idea of him having her right here against the wall, maybe if she's lucky, maybe if she begs, she doesn't like begging but still, she's mewling like her namesake into his mouth which might be close enough, hopefully–

“Please, yes, please, yes, please!”

Her eyes and Ned's go wide simultaneously, and he almost drops her, but manages to catch himself and let her down gracefully. They turn around and see in front of them see their daughter Sansa, on their bed, naked with her head thrown back and eyes closed, and – _someone else_ – sitting behind her.

“That's it, that's my good girl, such a lovely girl, taking it so well, so beautiful and strong,” says the other person, face still concealed in Sansa's neck and only some chestnut curls visible, and Cat and Ned are both too dumbstruck to interrupt. “Come for me, sweetheart, you've done so well, you deserve it, come.”

And Sansa screams, this person's nails digging into her hips to keep her still as she shudders her way through an orgasm. Oh. _That's_ the noise they hear late at night sometimes. Cat always thought that was foxes.

“That's it, that's my girl,” and Sansa smiles, her head finally dropping back down. Then she opens her eyes.

Ah.

“Mum! Dad!” Her eyes go wide as well as she quickly turns the same colour as her hair, hurriedly trying to cover herself with her hands. “You were – I thought you'd be out for – hours–”

“Sansa–”

“I need a shower!”

“Sansa!” That's not them, that's the other person – now Cat can see it's a young woman, a very pretty one too – but either way, Sansa, always spry on her feet, is out the door before any of them can doing about it. And Cat and Ned are left staring at the naked stranger in their bed who's just – what, exactly? – their daughter.

The young woman seems remarkably unperturbed by the situation, although she does look down at the thick, heavy black thing she has strapped between her legs – oh, _that's_ what they were doing – with a little embarrassment. “Well if I'd known we were going to get caught, I might have chosen one of my less intimidating strap-ons,” she comments as she moves to remove it, and Cat looks away, as if it's not a little late to give the poor girl privacy. “Sorry, terrible first impression to make. Still. Pleased to meet you. I'm Margaery Tyrell. I'm one of Sansa's uni friends.”

Oh. Now she says it, the name Margaery does sound a little familiar – Sansa's mentioned her once or twice, although never in any context that make Cat wonder too much. “Friends?” she queries, wondering if this is going to be like Robb and Theon again; if she's going to have to deal not only with seeing her children have sex, but also that being cue for them to announce they're officially dating the person they got caught with, which Cat still thinks can only end badly but she also knows there's nothing she can do about it, apart from be there for Robb if/when (depending on how charitable she's feeling) Theon breaks his heart.

“Good friends.” Margaery smirks a little at that, and Cat narrows her eyes suspiciously. She doesn't know who this young lady is or what she's been up to with her daughter, but if she thinks she'll get away with taking advantage–

“You know what Sansa's like, she's such a romantic. I love her for it, but still, it makes it a bit tricky for her to admit that sometimes, she just wants sex for its own sake. I don't like it when she makes bad decisions, you know, fooling herself she's in love with some guy just because he's hot, and he's only going to use her and hurt her. Maybe it's a little patronising, but still, I figure: better she gets it from a good friend who cares about her, right?”

...Damn her, she's good. Cat _does_ know what Sansa's like, and she can't help but think this Margaery has a point. But still, she hardly knows the girl. Who, while currently getting dressed, is still technically naked on her bed.

“So, whose idea was it to do it _here_ then?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Margaery winces a little. “Mine, I'm afraid,” she says. “I wouldn't have, but Sansa's bed is rather narrow, and I was afraid she might fall and hurt herself.”

Oh _dammit._ Margaery casually pulls her jeans up around her waist and tucks her strap-on back into her handbag, then sighs and stands. “Right, well – I might want to go talk to Sansa, convince her everything's going to be alright and she will be able to face you for the rest of her life.” She pauses. “Unless you want me to help change the sheets?”

“No, that's... fine,” Cat says. Margaery grins at her.

“Right. Well, lovely meeting you both,” she says before walking off, seemingly not needing to be told where the bathroom is, and really that is not the word Cat would have used but – if Sansa has to have casual sex with her friends in their bed, she does seem to have chosen an awfully sweet girl to do it with.

Once Margaery's gone Cat turns to look at Ned, the mood definitely killed, and for a long moment he just stares at the bed, before sighing in resignation. “So, should we change the sheets then?”

Cat winces. “Oh, don't worry, I'll take care of it. I owe you one, don't I?”

Ned seems surprised. “If you're sure, love,” he says, and Cat sighs.

Really, if she'd just suffered through the movie.

 


	3. Bran

“Son... if you have to have sex with my friend's children, could you at least do it one at a time?”

Really, Ned is remaining a lot calmer about this than Cat is. Bran at least has the decency to look very embarrassed, which is more than she can say for either of his 'friends' – the boy looked so cool and collected you'd hardly think he'd been having sex at all, and the girl mostly laughed about the whole thing. Cat can't remember either of their names, though Ned probably knows. Still, it seems the wrong moment to ask – given what her temper's like, and what Ned knows her temper's like, he probably wouldn't tell her for the poor kids' safety.

“Sorry Dad,” Bran mutters, staring at the floor. “Still: can't you at least be glad that I physically, you know, _can_?”

Cat raises an eyebrow. “You are not using your disability to get out of this one.”

“Aren't I?”

“No.”

Bran sighs and an awkward silence falls between them. “I'm going to have to tell Howland about this,” Ned mutters.

A horrified look crosses Bran's face. “What? Dad, no! I don't want to die! You don't want me to die!”

“What do you expect of me, Bran?” Ned asks. “He's one of my closest friends, and I just walked in on two of his children having sex together, do you expect me to keep that from him?”

“B-but it's not like they were doing anything to each other!” Bran insists. “It's just, you know, I've been doing it separately with them both for awhile and it's always been a bit of a fantasy and... I'm not helping myself here, am I?”

“No you are not.” Cat says. But then she hesitates. Perhaps she sympathises more than Ned can – it's not like back in her confused adolescent days, she didn't occasionally fantasise about having Ned and Brandon both at once. If she's being honest, sometimes she still thinks about it, even if she knows it would all be far too awkward and she's barely even spoken to Bran for the past few decades. And she doesn't particularly want Howland Reed murdering her baby boy either, even if she is very mad at him. “It was your idea then? You asked for it?”

Bran blushes. “Y-yeah.”

She sighs. She would have liked to think otherwise, that the Reeds must have corrupted him and taken advantage of his youth and naivety (and so it'd all be Ned's fault), but from all the shouts and demands she heard coming through the walls just now she didn't really think it was the case. Where did her sweet son learn how to speak like that? She supposes, he's almost twenty now, he has grown up. She knew she'd have to face that fact someday, she just didn't expect to be confronted with it so directly.

Ned sighs in turn, and looks back between Cat and Bran, both nervously chewing their lips in time. “Bran, can you promise me this will never happen again?”

Bran, always the clever one, recognises a lifeline when he's been thrown one. “Yes, yes, absolutely,” he nods frantically. “Really, it was more awkward than anything else, since they had to spend so much time avoiding touching–”

“Alright, that's enough,” says Ned. “In that case... look, I'm not going to lie to my friend, Bran. But if the subject never comes up... I won't be the one to mention it.”

Bran lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Oh. Okay. Thank you, Dad,” he says firmly. “So we can all forget this ever happened, right?”

“Oh no,” says Cat, narrowing her eyes. “You are grounded, young man.”

“What?!” cries Bran. “I'm nineteen, you can't ground me.”

“You live under my roof, I can ground you, and I will.”

“B-but Sansa had sex _in your bed_ and _she_ didn't get grounded!”

Cat's eyes narrow even further. “Did Sansa have sex with two siblings in our bed?”

Bran averts his eyes. “Oh, like Margaery's never shared her with Willas,” he mutters.

“What.”

“...Nothing, because I don't want her killing me.” Cat is about to interrogate further, but before she can Ned frowns in puzzlement.

“How do you even know about Sansa – in our bed?”

Bran pauses, the shrugs. “I know a lot of things.” That does not seem like a complete answer, but Bran seems to realise it doesn't seem like a complete answer, and so carries on before anyone can probe it too deeply. “Why _didn't_ she get grounded?”

Cat and Ned share an uncomfortable look, and then Cat sighs. “Honestly, she seemed so upset and embarrassed and guilty about the whole thing, we didn't feel like she needed any extra punishment. Indeed we thought that would only make things worse.” It's not until she's finished her response that Cat realises she didn't really have to answer at all; she could have easily told him it was none of his business and given his current situation he really shouldn't be asking anything of them at all. Cat's always been too soft of Bran, she knows that.

Bran sighs. “You couldn't have told me that when you first came in, could you? It would have made getting out of trouble much easier.”

Cat valiantly tries to force herself not to smile. “No, then,” she says and Bran sighs again. “Now get some sleep, sweetheart. Alone.”

“Alright,” he says. “Thanks for not killing me.”

Cat and Ned both shake their heads and walk out. As they make their way down the corridor, Ned turns to Cat with a worried look.

“Don't think we were too harsh on him, do you?”

She scoffs. “Hardly. We probably let him off terribly easy.” Despite what she said, she does sort of want to forget this ever happened, and pretend Bran is her perfect little boy she's always thought he was. Although then she's just going to have to think about what he told her about Sansa and Margaery and Willas, and really, that doesn't seem much like the Margaery Tyrell she's gotten to know after the past few months, who must be the sweetest and most considerate fuckbuddy of all time; she's stacked the dishwasher for them when Sansa is already asleep having forgotten her chores. But perhaps it was Sansa's idea, like it was Bran's. Cat sighs. Maybe she _should_ call Brandon. Sure, it would make a terrible hypocrite of her, but maybe it would work out this strange genetic sibling threesome kink she seems to have passed on to her children, like it's Huntington's or something.

“But I didn't even do anything this time,” she mutters.

“What was that?”

She looks up, meets Ned's eye, then flushes and looks back down again. “Nothing,” she says. No, no. He'd never agree.

 


	4. Rickon

Ned is watching the football. He doesn't get to do that very often, since they've always got something else to do, they're very busy people, but Cat insisted she'd finish washing the dishes and he could relax for a couple of hours. She's never liked football anyway. It always takes so long for anything to happen, for anyone to score at all. She prefers rugby, which Ned teases her for, telling her how rich and southern she is.

(She opts against mentioning she's always preferred contact sports.)

Cat sighs and gently slides the last plate into the cupboard before going to dry her hands on a tea towel. She checks the clock. It's nearing midnight, and she should probably go to bed soon. And she'd quite like to, except – Ned won't be following her for awhile, until the game's over. It's one of those European championships or somesuch with a very loose definition of 'European', that they host in Kazakhstan or somewhere like that, meaning it starts at a ridiculous hour. Cat frowns. It's not like – it's not like she _needs_ sex to fall asleep or anything. But still. It wouldn't hurt.

She frowns again at the clock, and then over at the screen her husband is watching. There hasn't been a goal yet. The players are still just running back and forth, occasionally pretending to be injured, like footballers do. Surely, if she only distracted him for a few minutes, he wouldn't miss anything...

Mind made up, Cat – she does not creep, no – walks softly up behind Ned, not sure whether he notices her. From the soft jump she gets when he feels her lay her hands upon his shoulders, probably not. Gently, she starts to rub back and forth. “Cat, what are you–”

“You looked tense, darling.” This is a blatant lie; Ned looked a lot less tense than he usually does, and now he's starting to look tenser. Stll, he seems disinclined to contradict her. Catelyn kneads at the muscle under his plaid shirt, and god, for a man of his years he's still so _strong_ , and she shudders remembering the last time she teased and flirted and baited enough he just picked her up and carried her to their bed in the middle of the day. She wonders if the bitemarks she left on his shoulder are still there. She finds her hand gliding off his shoulder and across his chest.

“Cat – I'm watching the game–”

“Then watch the game,” she whispers in his ear as she fumbles for his top button. “And try to pay attention. You wouldn't want to miss the first goal, would you?”

Ned groans as Cat's hand slips inside his shirt, and she starts idly flicking at his left nipple, smirking at how it hardens under her touch. “The children will–”

“Either they're out, or they should be in bed by now,” Cat dismisses, probably too easily. “Don't worry. They won't see anything,” she promising, nipping at the skin on his neck and feeling him arch toward her. “Let me take care of you, dearest husband.”

And Ned, as always, gives in with a resigned sigh. “This is all for my sake, then?”

Cat frowns, and gently scratches him with a thumbnail. Ned hisses in pain, but she watches how his hips buck up into the air when she does it. “Careful love,” she says, nipping his skin a little harder, “we have to be careful. You don't want me getting too out of control, else someone might hear us.”

“Aye. I do know what it's like when you lose control.”

She scratches him again. “ _Careful_ ,” she warns, and then she places her hand back above the fabric of his shirt, at which Ned makes a slightly disappointed sound, but then she leans in further so she can trail her hand down his torso, her breasts pressed against his jaw. “It's your damn fault anyway, you drive me wild. You wouldn't refuse to take responsibility for the situation you've created, would you?”

He gasps quietly as Cat reaches for his fly, hand almost shaking in its eagerness to _touch_ , to wrap around that thick, heavy, hard cock, to please and to tease him until he has no choice but to drag her down and bury his length inside her. With her spare hand, she kneads at her slit through her trousers, and is stunned by how she feels the wetness seeping through the fabric. _Well that's embarrassing._ She ought to get them off soon. Then she realises what she must look like, stretching over the back of the couch so she can touch her husband's cock and her own cunt at the same time, and god, she is more impatient than she thought she was. Her plan changes.

“Ned,” she whispers in his ear, “stand up. Stand behind me. Take me like this, over the back of the couch. You don't – you don't even have to stop watching the game, I just, I can't wait anymore.”

He hesitates. “Cat...”

“Please, Ned. Please.” That is what they typically dub losing control, but it doesn't seem to matter at the moment, not when she's aching inside. “I need you to take me, I need it now, I need – _where are_ _ **you**_ _going?!_ ”

Poor Ned jumps a mile when she suddenly stands and shouts that, but she's not talking to him. At the door stands her youngest, clearly caught in the middle of sneaking out, but seemingly unaware or unembarrassed by what he just walked in on. Cat wishes she could say the same, but still, she hopes the fervency of her glare is enough to distract from her blush.

Rickon shrugs. “Out.”

Cat's eyes narrow. Rickon, despite being arguably the most wild of her children (he and Arya are basically neck-and-neck in that race), inherited his father's taciturn nature, and so getting the full story out of him is always a bit tricky. “Where?” she asks, as Ned suddenly stands, looking confused and embarrassed, for the most part.

“Friend's place.” Well that could mean anything.

“At this time of night?”

“It's not that late,” Rickon says.

“ _I_ will be the judge of that,” Cat drawls. She squints at him, examining his too-small t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans. “Who is going to be there?”

“Few people.”

“Anyone I'd know?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Rickon_.” But her glare doesn't work on him the same way it does her other children, it never has, which is absolutely infuriating. Rickon's never scared of anything. Not that she doesn't want her son to be brave, but she doesn't want him to be so brave she can never discipline him. “Should I even ask how you were planning on getting home?”

“I thought Bran could drive me.”

“He's grounded!”

“...Is he? Shit.” Rickon shrugs. “He goes out so little I didn't notice.” Cat glares harder, wondering if Ned is going to back her up at some point, and Rickon chuckles to himself. “Can't get you to drive me, can I?”

“ _No._ ”

He laughs again. “Didn't think so.” He thinks it over for a few seconds more. “Maybe I'll get Shireen to drive me back.”

“Shireen?” Cat's eyes narrow further. “Shireen Baratheon?”

“Yeah? What's wrong with Shireen?” asks Rickon. “She's a nice girl.”

“She's eighteen.”

“So?”

Cat's about to say exactly why that matters, but then she hesitates. If her underage son isn't having sex with a girl entirely too old for him, she doesn't want to give him the idea that he should be.

“So, can I go now?”

“What? No!” Cat says, stunned by his impertinence. “Absolutely not, I am not having you out on the streets on this hour, I forbid you to leave this house–”

“Are you sure? Because I thought you might want me out of the way.” She's confused for a moment, and he shrugs. “Did seem like I was interrupting something when I came in.”

That leaves Cat flabbergasted for a moment. Unfortunately, a moment is all Rickon needs to swing the door open. “Wait, come back here–” but it's too late, he's out and disappearing into the night, which he's very good at.

He heat under Cat's skin has all transformed into anger and humiliation. “...When he gets back, he is even more grounded than Bran is,” she eventually spits out, still glaring at the door.

Ned sighs and comes up behind her, gently rubbing her sore, tense muscles. “He'll be alright,” he says. “Shireen's a good girl. And she's Stannis's daughter. I highly doubt he'd let her get away with a dalliance with a fifteen year old boy.”

Cat huffs a little, but relaxes into his arms. Ned's probably right, but still, it's annoying she has to rely on two near strangers' virtue, as she cannot on her own child's.

Behind her, Ned looks idly over his shoulder. “I missed the first goal,” he says.

Cat flinches. “Sorry.”

“It's alright. Really, I can watch the game any time.” And then his hands move down to her waist, pulling her tighter against him. The heat under her skin starts to change back. “Should we go up to bed then?”

Cat hesitates, and bites her lip. “No, don't worry. I... wouldn't feel right if I made you miss the whole game.”

“Are you sure?” His hands slip further down as he starts to grind his half-hard cock against her, and _oh_ , he knows her too well.

“I'm sure,” she says, unable to fully keep back a smirk, or a moan. “I think I – I can put up with listening to the football for an hour or two. So long as you're keeping me distracted. I have always admired your ability to multitask.”

She spins around, looking up at him with imploring eyes. Ned hesitates a moment, seemingly on the edge of saying something. But then he just chuckles, and helps guide her into position.

 


	5. Edmure (and Lysa)

She doesn't get to meet up with Edmure as often as she feels she should. It's understandable, they both have busy lives, and he tells her he's all grown up and doesn't need his big sister looking after him anymore, but historically whenever he's said that it's turned out to be an utter lie, so Cat tries to keep an eye out just in case. She doesn't see Lysa as often as she should either, but well, as much as she hates to admit it, there's a reason for that.

They're sat in one of those trendy coffeeshops Cat's never really cared for, but Edmure seems to spend half his life in, and she flinches a little at the bitterness of her long black as she tries not to give too many judgemental looks to the strange caramel and whipped cream monstrosity her brother ordered. “By the way,” he says, grinning, “I wanted to invite you over to dinner next week. To meet my new girlfriend?”

“Oh?” _Oh god, another one?_ she is too tactful to say aloud. Edmure's habit of acquiring a new partner every month or so is basically harmless, she supposes, but she does think he's getting too old for it – he's pushing forty by now. “Is the whole family invited, or just me?”

“Er... Just you, I think. At least at first.”

Edmure rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, like he always did when he was trying to keep a secret from her, and Cat narrows her eyes suspiciously. “So, what's her name then?”

“Roslin.”

She's not sure why she bothers to ask; she's long since given up on keeping track of all their names. “Does she have a last name?”

Edmure suddenly looks very embarrassed, averting his eyes and grabbing his coffee to hide behind it. “Frey,” he mutters into the whipped cream.

It takes Cat a second to remember. When she does, however, her eyes go from narrowed to flat-out glaring.

“ _Robb's_ Roslin Frey?”

“Don't say it like that!” Edmure flails slightly at her. “They dated for a _month_ , a _decade_ ago. They went on a grand total of three dates. It hardly counts.”

She supposes Edmure had a point. Still, Roslin was Robb's first girlfriend, and that tends to be memorable – especially after the nightmare with her family and Jeyne after they broke up.

“She's Robb's age,” Cat points out.

“He's an adult! So so's she!”

“Yes, but she's still young enough to be your niece, Edmure.”

He rolls his eyes. “Only because you had kids stupidly young.”

Cat makes an affronted noise. “I'm sorry, is this my fault?”

“Well, if _someone_ didn't get knocked up at seventeen by her ex-boyfriend's brother–”

Cat's glare flames with anger, and Edmure, as ever, cowers before it. “Sorry,” he mutters, before going back to hiding behind his cup. Once her temper's abated, however, Cat sighs. She supposes Edmure has a point. Between Ned and Brandon, she really has no right to judge.

“Did you just want me to talk to Robb first to try and make this situation a little less awkward?”

“Yes. Yes, absolutely, that would be great.

Edmure grins and Cat sighs again. “Fine,” she mutters, conceding defeat.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Edmure blurts out, seemingly forgetting the whole conversation now it's finished. “Sansa facebooked me the other day. She hoped I could have a word to you when we met up.”

Cat blinked. She didn't know her children stayed in contact with her brother when she wasn't looking. And she and Sansa still live in the same house; why exactly did her daughter need to ask Edmure to speak for her? “About what?”

Edmure chuckles uncomfortably and starts rubbing the back of his neck again. “It's... a bit delicate. She was a little shy to bring it up herself.” Cat's eyes narrow again. What is going on here? “Look, Cat, all of us are glad you and Ned are still so happy together. Especially your kids; you know, I think they're pretty glad they exist, but... could you try being so happy together a little more, um, privately? According to Sansa, they've all been exposed to some things they'd understandably rather not see.”

Cat's left gaping for a second, struggling for a response. When it finally emerges, it turns out to be: “ _She_ can talk!”

Edmure blinks in surprise and confusing, and Cat can't help herself, the words all come spilling out: “Oh, Sansa saw us in a compromising position alright, but I'm guessing she left out what we saw her doing with her friend Margaery in _our_ bed? And that was after we caught Robb with Theon in a public toilet, but before we caught Bran with both the Reed siblings, at once, and I don't even want to know what Rickon gets up to behind my back, so frankly none of them have any right to judge me whatsoever.”

It's not until Cat's finished her rant that she realises how ridiculous she sounds, and that she has just given Edmure a lot of information she really didn't need him to know. He stares at her for a moment, and then bursts out laughing.

“What? What is so funny?”

“I'm sorry, I just–” Edmure tries to smother his giggles in his coffee, which mostly has the effect of sending little specks of cream flying all over the table. “–just, look at us, you know? You can't keep it in your pants long enough to stop your children learning things they really don't need to, but neither can they, and then to top it all off I've gone and added Robb's ex-girlfriend to my never-ending list of conquests! Must go with the hair, eh? God, can you imagine the look on dad's face?”

Cat _can_ imagine the look on Dad's face, and in her head it's the same one he had when she was seventeen and with Ned she had to go break the news about little Robb growing in her belly. Even though Ned had already agreed to do the right thing and make an honest woman of her (something she highly doubts his brother would have done in the same situation), she still remembers just how disappointed her intensely conservative, intensely Catholic father who'd always thought the world of her looked. She doesn't really see the humour in it.

“Oh Cat, don't look like that,” Edmure says, making her eyes snap back to her face. “I was just kidding. Everything worked out alright for you in the end, didn't it? There's nothing wrong with liking sex. Dad, don't get me wrong I loved him, but he could be a bit of a repressed dickhead sometimes. You don't wanna inherit too much of that. Else you'll end up like Lysa.”

“Don't say that like–” but she can't really bring herself to finish that sentence, because no, she doesn't want to end up like Lysa, who preaches about honour and virtue and providing a good example for her son constantly, and who _everyone_ knows is cheating on her husband with their former foster brother, which Cat has always found deeply uncomfortable but has been willing to ignore so long as it keeps Petyr's attentions away from her.

She sighs, reaching for a second sugar packet for her coffee. Maybe Edmure has a point.

 


	6. Arya

Ned has to work late for once, and it's not like Cat is worried or anything – Ned's a big boy, he can look after himself ( _quite_ big, in fact, and she has no problems looking after him, but that's besides the point) – but for whatever reason, she cannot sleep. Presumably, it's just not having a warm body in the bed beside her that's disrupted her routine. She sighs as she pulls her dressing gown tighter around her, sipping a glass of water at the kitchen table. Maybe she should have found a nightie to put under it, but it seemed pointless, since she'd probably just take it off again once she went back to bed. She's always been more comfortable sleeping naked (and if she happened to still be awake when Ned got home, well...). She bothered with underwear, and she thinks that's good enough.

 _Is it not having him in_ the bed _that's disrupted my routine?_ she wonders. Admittedly, Ned usually does wear her out some before she nods off. Still, she refuses to admit she needs sex to sleep. That makes her sound like an addict or something. It's not like that. She just happens to enjoy fucking, that's all, and what is wrong with that? She's a married woman, who performs her wifely duties willingly and enthusiastically. Surely, even her father couldn't disapprove (not with the way he and Mother used to go at it; really, it's a miracle she only has two siblings).

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door swinging open, and Cat looks up, a little too eagerly. Their household has enough dogs, she is not one of them. Ned comes into the kitchen with a heavy sigh, looking exhausted, the poor dear. His tie hangs askew and half-loosened from his neck, and his stubble shadows his face heavily. He looks surprised when he sees her. “Cat,” he says. “You're up late.”

“Couldn't sleep,” she says, honestly.

Approximately five minutes later, her arse is up on the ledge of the kitchen sink, her legs wrapped so tight around him to stop her falling into it as much as anything. “Faster Ned, faster,” she hisses in his ear, alternately clawing at his back and fumbling for his fly, her robe wide open and underthings hanging precariously from her left foot.

“I'm trying,” he mutters, nipping her neck with his teeth. “You don't think we should–”

“No time,” Cat insists. Surely, they technically could go back upstairs, but Cat wants it _now_ , and besides, having sex in the bed has been a little odd since the Sansa incident (not that it's stopped them).

Ned sighs. “Alright, but then it's your fault if we get caught again.” Cat frowns, half-tempted to kick him, but then his fingers find their way between her legs and oh, nevermind. “We're not all ready for it as quickly as you are, love.”

Cat makes a perturbed noise, even as Ned suddenly drops to his knees in front of her, much more quickly than you'd think a middle-aged man could manage. “For the record, this is not my fault,” she says, suddenly remembering her talk with Edmure the other week, and Ned just looks confused at that so she has to elaborate on what she's even talking about. "The fact none of our children can keep it in their pants long enough to stop us constantly walking in on them is not my fault."

"Hmm," says Ned, which doesn't entirely make it sound like he believes her.

Granted, the fact he currently has her hoisted up on the kitchen sink with her knickers around her ankles probably doesn't help.

“I mean it–” but then he starts kissing along her thighs, except kissing isn't even really the right word for it, they're hard sucks and bites that are going to leave bruises for her to admire and him to flush in guilt at for days, and he's getting so teasingly close to where she needs him, and Cat can't do anything but groan and grab his hair and call his name. “Ned, Ned, Ned, Ned, Ned – Arya!”

Ned suddenly jumps, getting back to his feet – wincing a little – and turning round to see their youngest daughter, standing there with eyes wide. It takes Cat a second to remember to blush and to cover herself back up. “What are you doing up?” she finds herself saying. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“I was getting a glass of water!” Arya insists. “What were _you_ doing up?”

Arya's right, Cat can hardly be asking much of anything here. “Right,” she says, hopping down off the sink. “Well, nevermind, now you can–”

“No, I'm good. I'm pretty sure I'm never using that sink again.” For a long moment Cat can only, like Ned, stand there in silent shame, and then Arya starts to laugh. “Jeez. Have you two fucked on everything in the house? Ew.”

Cat blushes deeper. She hopes Arya doesn't think too hard about that question. She hopes she never wonders how that rocking horse she had when she was nine got broken (but to be fair, it's not like Arya ever used that rocking horse).

Arya keeps laughing, and then raises her hands in surrender. “Right, well I'm gonna leave you two lovebirds alone. Stay safe, use protection and all that.”

 _I'm forty-three years old, and your father's had a vasectomy,_ but Cat opts not to say that in favour of being relieved Arya is taking pity and going away. Once the she's left, Cat sighs and stares at the floor. “Again,” she mutters miserably.

Ned lays a hand on her shoulder. “Don't worry about it, Cat,” he says. “I mean, knowing our luck, it'll take us a week to catch her in the act as well.”

Cat pouts. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Did it?”

“No.”

Ned sighs. “Right. Should we go up to bed then? _That_ would make you feel better.”

Cat flushes, but Ned's right, that would make her feel much better.

* * *

They've been out on another date, and Cat can proudly report, she has been _good_ tonight. She sat through the film, no matter how boring it was. She ate her dinner efficiently and properly, and did not make any gestures with her mouth that could be possibly misinterpreted. They talked about the kids and the film and his work and how infuriating Cersei Lannister is, and at no point during the conversation did Cat start begging for sex. So far, tonight, they've shared little more intimacy than holding hands and a few kisses on the cheek.

As a good Catholic girl, Cat fully expects God to reward her behaviour with the fucking of a lifetime tonight.

Still, she's going to be patient, and wait until they get to the bedroom for once (although whether she'll be able to wait until they get to the bed is another matter). She walks firmly and proudly into the living room, Ned following right behind, and switches on the lights. And the first thing she says is Arya's head buried in a young man's lap.

 _Oh, of course,_ Cat thinks. _I'm going to catch my daughter giving a blowjob on the couch. Of course I am._

But she soon realises that isn't it. Arya's not at the right angle, and she's not kneeling or anything. No, she's asleep, curled up on the cushions and using her – boyfriend's? - lap as a pillow. She hasn't even noticed they've come in. The young man isn't asleep, but it takes him a moment to realise them as well, as he's too busy smiling down at Arya and stroking her hair. “Mr. and Mrs. Stark,” he says, and tries to get up, but Arya, still asleep, digs her nails into his thigh and refuses to let him. “You're back early.”

Cat raises an eyebrow. “We are not,” she says coolly ( _and I know, because I made myself wait for hours_ ).

“Oh,” says Arya's whatever-he-is (presumably, he must have a name of his own). “I suppose I lost track of the time.”

Cat purses her lips together and moves across the room, coming to sit next to this boy the arm of the couch, making him look extremely freaked out. She looks over at the television, playing some action movie, but muted. He must have done that so Arya could sleep.

“I didn't know you and my daughter knew each other, Gendry,” Ned says from across the room. Gendry looks distinctly uncomfortable. Cat's puzzled. _Hang on, do you know this boy, Ned?_ But then she remembers the name – right, Gendry is Ned's friend Robert's son. Frankly, Cat has always found Robert Baratheon's family situation entirely too confusing to try and keep track of, but she has met Robert, she does know what he's like. It gives her pause.

“Ah, well we only met a few months ago,” he says. “I've been trying to get her to tell you about me for ages, but I think she thought having a secret boyfriend was sexy.”

Cat raises an eyebrow. “Really now,” she says, and Gendry blushes.

“I mean, in theory anyway,” he says. “Since we've really not done anything yet.”

“Oh?” _Well this is new,_ Cat thinks.

Gendry shakes his head. “She's – she'd never admit it, but she's actually pretty shy, when it comes to all that. She told me she's not ready, so that's that.” He looks back down at her, and smiles. “I'm a pretty patient guy.”

Cat's really not sure what to make of this. She looks to Ned, who only shrugs. _See, it's not genetic, I haven't corrupted all of our children!_ Cat initially thinks, victorious, but then she remembers what Edmure said. _It must go with the hair._

Gendry sighs. “I should probably help her to bed, huh?” He gently shakes Arya's shoulder. “Oi, you, Little Miss Lazy-arse, I'm not carrying you up the stairs.”

Arya groans “fuck off,” and then falls back asleep, still not noticing her parents. Gendry chuckles, and then, somehow, hoists her right over his shoulder, still without waking her, and goes to do exactly what he just said he wouldn't. Cat blinks in surprise. The boy is _strong_.

Once they're gone, Cat is left pondering matters, nursing a worried frown. Ned comes over to sit next to her, with a similar expression. “Cat? Is something wrong?”

She lets out a sigh. “Alright, maybe this is my fault.”

Ned laughs at that, and Cat reaches over to slap his chest. He catches her wrist though, and then when they turn to look at each other, she breaks into a grin.

“You'll pay for that,” she says.

“Aye. I've learned by now, when I pay, I pay hard.”

 


End file.
